


Pomp and Circumstance

by icannothinkofaname



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Gen, because emotions don't make sense even if they really should, nyways no proofreading we die like men, uh there's a dead body being lugged around if that's a thing but i wouldn't really call it gore, what do i even tag this as?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icannothinkofaname/pseuds/icannothinkofaname
Summary: Alternative title: you can't bury your past until you've literally buried your past. Somewhere on the edge of Holland Valley, the world's most depressing burial takes place.





	Pomp and Circumstance

People had a funny way of adjusting to the worst circumstances, that made it almost impossible to come back to a semi-grounded reality once the war was over. Even in the midst of their celebration, the residents of Falls End were having the same realization dawn on each of them -- it was over and done with. Everything they'd fought for was won. Their valley was free, and John  _fucking_ Seed, may he rest but not in peace, was dead.

Relief was the most notable reaction, of course. But there were still questions to be answered. Of what now? What next? Where did each of them go from here, their makeshift army serving no purpose? Could they all return to their normal lives so suddenly, shoving their years of torment aside as if nothing more than a historical fact, make amends with a past that nobody wished to discuss?

Not that anyone present was sober enough to voice those questions. No, their existential dread took the form of a slurred, "so what're we doing with the body," posed to the entire party at the Spread Eagle.

Suggestions had come flying. Some brutal...  _most_ brutal, actually, the most popular being to string the man up like he and his followers had done to their people. Memorialize his body with all his sins and their grievances listed, a warning shot to the few remaining Project Members who wanted to take revenge in his name.

Mary May had been the one to point out that stooping to his level would only immortalize the man in a cultish martyrdom that fit Eden's Gate narrative way too well -- and besides, that's fucking disgusting, the heat would cause the smell to drift all over town and she, for one, would like to keep her business running.

Creativity drained, the intoxicated people of Falls End decided that the best solution was to find a random patch of loose dirt, bury him in a shallow grave, and forget about the whole thing.

Thankfully, none of the townsfolk bothered to do so the next day. If someone had stopped by the ruins of John's bunker to make good on said plans, they'd find a mysterious absence of any body lying 'round the compound.

And if anyone in Falls End was especially observant, they'd notice that Nick Rye was nowhere to be found either.

* * *

 

_"John," Nick began. "Where do you get off draggin' me halfway across the fucking county at five in the morning?"_

_The two had been hiking in silence for a few minutes now, Carmina's bright yellow paint only semi-concealed in the woods behind them. John's response to what Nick considered a perfectly reasonable question had been to laugh, and Nick could only grumble in response._

_"Halfway across the country -- Nick, we've been walking for ten minutes. You could always turn around and walk back home, if that's how you feel." John waved a hand, not bothering to turn around and actually acknowledge the man following in his footsteps. "Or, you can trust that I'm not taking you to the middle of nowhere for no reason, and quit complaining."_

_"I can't believe you're the one telling_ me _to quit whining." Is Nick's incredulous response._

_"If the shoe fits, Nick."_

_In turn, Nick grabbed a rock off the forest's ground and lobbed it past John's head, hitting against a nearby tree. John laughed once more, and Nick couldn't help but to respond in kind._

* * *

In retrospect, he really should've put John in a bag or something. Hiking through the woods in the Montana summer with a day old corpse had been somewhere in the upper rungs of the worst experiences in Nick's life, and he hadn't even started with the part of this whole trek he was dreading the most.

He struck at the ground with his shovel again, finally knocking some of the earth beneath his feet loose. A small victory. But a victory nonetheless. He dug out the soil, setting it down in the beginnings of a pile next to the hole, and took a moment to catch his breath and admire his handiwork.

The very little handiwork he had completed. Digging for God knows how long, and at most, he'd marked less than a foot into the ground. Nick stuck his shovel into the ground and leaned against it, the wooden handle pressing into his crossed arms.

In retrospect, this wasn't a well thought out plan. Calling it a plan seemed an affront to any well-laid plan, actually. Impulse was the most likely word to use here. The sun beat down on Nick's little motivation. He hadn't really figured to bring water along, and sweat was already seeping in through his threadbare t-shirt.

He should go home.

...He wasn't going home. If the Rye family was known for anything, it was their tenacity. ( That someone with harsher words might call  _stupidity_ , but a family legacy is a family legacy. ) Besides, he'd already dug up a foot. Only five or so more to go.

In the distance came the rumbling of an engine. Adjusting the brim of his hat, Nick pulled the shovel out of the ground, and got back to work.

* * *

_"What the hell is that noise -- hey!"_

_Apparently, whatever the hell it was, it gave John the sudden need to grab Nick by the arm and run past the scenery they'd been so cautiously walking through. Lord knows where John had gotten his second wind from. The man wasn't exactly running triathlons in his spare time, and Nick was starting to feel the heat of the morning through his loose t-shirt, let alone the ridiculous overcoat John seemed to insist on wearing no matter the occasion._

_Thankfully, Nick managed to get his bearings straight, catching up to run alongside John. The rumbling grew louder, and to Nick, more and more familiar. His partner forgotten, he dropped the man's hand and stumbled into a sprint._

_Finally past the tree line and in the middle of an abandoned field, Nick managed to catch the tail end of a low plane flying past. So, his guess was right after all. The sound had been a turbine engine. Which would mean..._

_John emerged from the woods a few moments later, the exertion of their little run finally catching up to him. He took a breath leaning against a tree, and Nick shot him a confused look._

_"What're we doing here?"_

_John just grinned._

* * *

Hours later, the sun had made it ways well past the top of the treeline, and Nick had finally finished digging his grave. A mound of dirt sat behind him, that and the evident lack of a visible body the sole sign of what he considered a pretty major accomplishment.

Still though, he wasn't quite finished. Couldn't really be considered a true Christian burial without some kind of marker, now could it? ( Could it? What exactly were the rules of a good Christian style burial - or any burial at all? Oh, fuck it, it's not like anyone was around to correct him. )

He pulled a loose thread from his plaid cutoff shirt, tucking the string around his fingers before grabbing the most appropriately sized branches he could scour from the nearby woods. Nick was never a craftsman. Artistically speaking, this thing would be a fucking nightmare to anyone who happened to stumble upon it. But he could tie a decent enough knot. And keeping this thing steady was the main priority of the day.

Placing the two sticks down perpendicular to one another, he wrapped the thread around the meeting point. A few tight knots kept the whole construction somewhat together. At least, it didn't immediately fall apart the second he staked it into the ground. Who knows whether it would survive more than a few hours, but it was a good enough approximation given the lack of resources. He stood, dusting off his jeans and admiring his... creation.

It wouldn't be winning any woodworking contests, but a cross was a cross. He nudged his boot into the dirt, abrupt self-conscious kicking in about this whole process. Not that he could help it, really. This was the part he was dreading 'til now.

The labour intensive part complete, now he had all the time in the world to stand around and  _think_.

* * *

_"You took me out here to look at planes?"_

_"Well, yes." John answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It isn't as though there's an airport anywhere near Hope County. This was the closest place I could find."_

_"No, I mean, I get that part." The two had long accepted that they were the rare few pilots in the area, to their continued annoyance. And finding an airport, however small, was a victory in itself. "I just don't see why we need to go out and look at planes. I mean, I work with them everyday." He gestured behind them to where Carmina sat in wait._

_"Again, yes. But, there's a difference between flying and observing."_

_"Yeah. One's a bit more entertaining than the other."_

_"Maybe. But what does that matter?" As if proving his point, John sat down in the grass, lying on his back and watching the sky. Nick just watched him, as if in disbelief of what he was seeing. "Well?"_

_Nick crossed his arms. "Well, what?"_

_"Are you going to stay and watch?"_

_A part of him wanted to object more, point out that this whole excursion was as ridiculous as it was time-consuming. But he didn't. He sighed, throwing his hands up in a sign of defeat, and lied down next to John._

_"This is stupid."_

_"And yet, here you are."_

_"Shut up."_

_When the next plane passed over a half-hour later, the gust of wind blowing away the silence that had formed between the two, Nick had to admit - there was something kind of nice about this, as meaningless as it was. Or maybe it was the lack of a purpose that made it so enjoyable. Just him and his friend, out in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing, for no reason._

_He could live with that._

* * *

"I should say something." Not the best start to a eulogy, but as Nick kept pointing out to himself, who was around to criticize his speech? He coughed into his hand, rocking back on his feet as though he was fully prepared to run if need be. ( He was. )

"I don't know, this is all -- this makes no fucking sense." There's something akin to defeat in his voice. "Why am I even out here? After everything that happened, all the shit you put my family through."

As if on instinct, his hand went to his chest, bandages wrapped around his not yet healed scars. An urge to scratch at them came, and passed in an instant.

"The shit you put everyone through."

The sound of an engine starting threatened to cut him off. He raised his voice, his words falling on deaf ears either way.

"I thought you were my friend. And don't try to tell me that we still were, don't fucking start with your whole thing about wanting to  _protect_ us. You and I both know that your brother's full of shit, John."

Nearby, the plane began to take off, and Nick's voice crawled to a yell.

"But you  _listened_ to him. You believed everything he told you. Why, John? Because he was family? 'Cause he told you that he would save you?" Nick pointed at the grave, as if to clarify his point, even as his thoughts raced past any sense of coherency. "I told you he was fucking insane - I told you not to trust him. I offered you a place away from him, and his end of the world power fantasy, and his batshit cult. But you followed him anyways. And now what? He's using your death to rally his people to arms, and I'm the one who came and buried you. Was that a part of his fucking plan? Were you meant to die like this? Is this what you wanted? Well, congratulations, you fucking earned it!"

He spread his arms out, the rush of blood and ringing in his ears dying down. The plane was gone, and Nick was met with nothing but silence. He sighed.

"Just -- enjoy your planes, John."

With that as his parting amen, Nick dropped the shovel to the ground, and began the hike back home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You know that one quote about praying for the devil? This was vaguely inspired by that.


End file.
